Chapter 184
"So…"
"It's insane," Lane said, stunned, looking out at the city. Paris grinned.
"Told you it was worth it."
"I can't believe I almost missed this. This isn't touristy. It's incredible."
"I mean, arguably, it's both," Paris said. Rory laughed.
"I don't know if I ever did this either," she admitted, turning to Paris. Paris looked at her, her eyes widening.
"How is that possible?! You lived here!"
"Technically, yeah. But I barely ever left the apartment. Or work."
"…weren't you basically obsessed with New York when we were in high school? And then when you were planning to work at the Times?"
"…yeah. But a lot changed," Rory said, staring out on the East River. She turned to Paris. "To tell you the truth, you seem more at home here than I ever did."
Paris raised her eyebrows. "…but I just ended up here. Pretty randomly, as a matter of practicality. I never even cared about New York."
"Well, maybe New York likes that," Lane mused, "It's not desperate or needy. Like Los Angeles." Paris laughed at that.
"I mean, you really never thought about it? This is the most intense city in the world. Concentrated, elevated…those all seem like they'd have been very appealing to you, especially when you were younger."
"I genuinely saw more DC, and then Boston, insofar as Cambridge and Harvard. But…you make a good point."
"That said, you actually seem…relaxed here? Well, for you," Rory joked. Paris smiled. A comment like that might have hurt her a few months ago. But Rory was right. Something had changed, was changing, where she was able to see the joke for what it is and laugh a little at herself too.
"I think you guys should come back," Paris said, looking onto the water. They looked over at her. "Jane and Hannah too, if they want and can make it. But you guys should come here more. You're always welcome."
"I mean, I'd love to. But it's not practical," Lane sighed, "With the kids, and my mom, and the expense…"
"First of all, I'm rich. I have enough money to start funneling it into offshore accounts somewhere. And when you guys come, it's a vacation for me too. You cover getting yourselves here, I'll cover accommodations."
"Even if we were willing to take you up on that…"
"Which, we're not saying we are," Rory cut in. Lane looked at her, and she quieted.
"…I still have the boys. And my mom."
"You have lots of people who love you who wouldn't hesitate to help with your mom for a few days. Even if not Zack. Same thing with the boys, though if you want to bring them, I'm pretty sure that I could use the practice having kids around," Paris gestured to her bump.
"And I'm already missing work a lot recently…" Rory trailed in.
"…that's what weekends are for. And it's a crazy time," Paris said, looking at her, "Look- you're close. You're both close. And life is crazy, and it's good to have an escape, and it's good to have friends. I'm just saying, I think it would be good for you guys to take advantage of it."
"It would be amazing to," Lane admitted, looking at Paris. Paris could hear the longing in her voice. "But it's just not realistic."
"…okay. I'm not gonna pressure you," Paris said gently, "But…if you ever find you need it, it's here for you. Okay? You're gonna be taking care of a lot of people. And sometimes it's hard to pour from an empty cup. You can come here to refill that."
"…thanks, Paris. Regardless, it means a lot that you offered."
Paris nods. Rory smiles.
"Alright everybody, that's enough sentimentality. Let's go get Lane some killer records and a leather jacket."
An hour later, they found themselves deep in the cluttered aisles of a record shop. Rory was searching for something in the B's, though she wasn't telling either Paris or Lane about it. Paris was sitting in a random chair, catching her breath from all the walking while heavily pregnant, and watching Lane expertly comb through the volumes.
"Now you're the one who looks like you're from here," Paris pointed out. Lane smiled, still never looking up from the vinyl.
"This is my thing," Lane explained, "I'm not a genius like you or Rory. But this is the thing I know a lot about."
"Do you play anymore?"
"…I practice. Occasionally. When the boys leave me alone long enough," Lane answered, still looking determinedly. She pulled an album out of a stack, adding it to a pile she had going, and continued on. "That'll be harder living with my mom though. Especially since she'll need the rest."
"Is there anywhere else you can practice?" Paris asked. Lane sighed.
"Well, there is this music shop. Stars' Hollow's only music shop. I'm friends with the woman who runs it. I could probably practice there. It's just a matter of time."
Paris nodded. "Well, I hope it works out. I don't think I've ever heard you play. Maybe next time I'm in town you could show me?"
"That sounds great," Lane said, stopping for a minute. She looked at Paris. "…do you have any interest in vinyl?"
"Next to none."
"What kind of music do you like?"
"I don't really know."
"How can you not know?"
"There wasn't much music around when I was younger, except classical and smooth jazz. I never really listened to it recreationally. And the crap Doyle listens to just hurts my head."
"What does he listen to?"
"The radio."
"…helpful. Okay, what about rock?"
"…what about it?"
"…dear god. I'm going to help you with this, whether you like it or not. You need a music education. And not just for you, because you need to not deprive the next generation of the world's best art form."
Paris laughed. "Well, if it's for the next generation…"
"I'll send you some stuff later. Text me your email address. The baby can hear music at this point, you should play some for her."
"But what do I even start with? Three rounds of Mary Had a Little Lamb might end up with me trying to induce an early labor."
"…you don't have to play her baby music, Paris. The boys liked Oasis."
"…Oasis?"
"Wonderwall?"
"That sounds familiar, kind of."
"Did you ever go to a sports game? Or a high school dance?"
"What do you think?" At that, Lane laughed.
"Okay, fair point. When we get back to the hotel, I can play some for you. If you want," Lane said, "I don't want to overstep."
"No, I'd really like that. She should hear some music. Thanks, Lane."
"Of course. Now, are you ready to check out?"
"Almost. I need to go through and prioritize these." Paris raised an eyebrow. "But that should be quick. Then I'll check out and we can go."
Forty minutes later, they left the store, Lane having purchased four of the original twelve albums she'd picked out. Paris and Rory had spoken to each other quietly while Lane was distracted and, once she finally picked out the ones she was getting, Paris offered to put the others away. While Rory kept Lane distracted, Paris went to the other checkout counter and bought the others, quickly hiding them in her large purse. Now she and Rory were set on gifts for Lane for the next few birthdays and Christmases. It was always satisfying when Paris figured out how to use her natural talents for subterfuge for good.
They walked across the street, and, seeing a vintage shop, decided to take a look. They'd planned to get coffee and then head back soon, but they wanted to at least take a quick look in a few stores, and this one happened to be first in their line of sight. For that reason, the group walked in.
"Paris, are you sure you're gonna make it? This place is no Nordstrom," Rory teased. Paris smiled.
"I'll manage. But what's wrong with Nordstrom? Do you suddenly require street cred or a cool factor in your day-to-day life working in an office?"
Lane laughed. "Ha, she got you there!"
Rory rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Fair enough," she smiled. "When the disorganization starts driving you completely insane, there's a coffee shop next door to abscond to."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Whoa."
Paris and Rory looked over at Lane, who had just pulled a gorgeous black leather jacket out from between a number of sweaters.
"…what was that doing there?"
"Someone was probably hiding it," Lane said absently, running her hands over the leather. Paris furrowed her brow.
"Why?"
"When you find the good stuff, if you can't buy it then and there, you hide it so you can come back for it," Rory explained. Paris nodded in comprehension. Rory walked over to Lane.
"Wow, it's gorgeous," Rory said, staring at the jacket. It looked to be slightly cropped, with silver hardware and grained, beautifully worn in weather.
"You should try it on," Paris said. Lane looked doubtful.
"I don't know, it looks expensive."
"What did the tag say?"
"I'm afraid to look." Paris laughed. Lane handed her the jacket. Paris found the tag, and her brow furrowed.
"It doesn't have a price on it."
"Weird. We could probably ask."
"Well, try it on, see if it's worth checking."
Lane nodded, walking over to a tiny full length mirror in a corner. She handed Rory her coat and carefully put the jacket on over her long-sleeved tee. She stared in the mirror.
"I look cool."
"You look gorgeous," Rory corrected.
"Beyond cool. You look like a rock star."
"…I really do," Lane admitted, unable to tear her gaze away. "How is this so soft?"
"I think it's lamb leather. But it's vintage, so ethically and sustainably, a whole lot better than buying new."
Lane nodded, still clearly enamored with the jacket. "This has to be expensive."
"Well, let's see. If you can bear to take it off, we can go check."
Lane nodded. As she took it off, Paris spied a second tag on the inside of the jacket. She held out her hand and Lane passed it to her. Paris read the tag.
"…well, you were right."
"…how much?"
"…two thousand dollars."
"What? How is that possible?" Rory exclaimed. Lane had turned an unsightly shade of green. Paris grimaced. She gestured to the label on the other side of the tab.
"Saint Laurent. Vintage. This is very high end designer vintage. This coat new would cost twice that much."
"…how can somebody charge $2000 for a coat?" Rory asked, her face still wracked with disbelief. Paris sighed.
"…I'm the wrong person to ask. But it still sucks."
"Yeah, out of budget doesn't even begin to cover it," Lane sighed, "That's probably what I make in a few months of watching Sookie's kids."
"…it's perfect, though," Rory admitted grudgingly. Lane sighed.
"It really is. It's going to make some princess, or politician, or actual rock star very happy."
"…come on, let's go get coffee."
"Try it on one more time? Just for fun," Paris asked. Lane sighed.
"I'm not sure it'll be fun, but fine," she acquiesed, slipping the jacket back over her shoulders and looking in the mirror. Lane looked longingly at her own reflection, then sighed, quickly taking the jacket off and handing it back to Paris.
"Can you put this back? I'm gonna head over to the coffee place. I need to pee like a racehorse."
"Of course," Paris nodded.
"I'll go with her," Rory said to Paris, "We'll meet you in a second."
"Okay. Mind ordering me a cappucino?"
"Consider it done."
Paris went back to the rack to put back the leather jacket. She found herself staring at it instead.
"Can I help you?" a woman asked, appearing out of nowhere. Paris looked at her, an idea forming in her head.
"Yes. I live here," Paris said, assuming her normal, authoritative, confident tone, used often to intimidate men away from trying to talk to her, bend women to her will, and secure anything she damn well wanted. "And I'd like to buy this jacket. But I'll need to come pick it up tomorrow. Can I pay now and have you hold it?"
"Of course, Ms…"
"Geller."
"Geller. Of course, Ms. Geller. We can take care of you right here."
"That would be great, thanks."
Paris quickly swiped her card, added her contact details to a post it, and said goodbye to the woman, and headed to meet Rory and Lane at the coffee shop.
She walked in and almost immediately saw them waving her over. She went to join them and sat down.
"Thanks," Paris looked at Rory gratefully, lifting the cappucino to her lips.
"It took you a minute."
"Had to stop for a minute and have the panic attack I was holding back the entire time we were in there. Who on earth organizes clothing by color rather than type?" Lane grinned, and Rory laughed.
"Nice to see you haven't lost all of your original charm."
"And by that, do you mean neurosis?"
"…I plea the fifth."
